Shattered Prince

I checked under his mattress and in his bathroom. There was nothing interesting. I hesitated and smelled his towel, not sure why I did it, but his scent filled my nostrils with a strange, tingling excitement. A chill ran down my spine and I lingered in that room, looking at the shower and the sinks and the mirrors. He stripped in here, washed himself, groomed himself. I could see him with water running down his muscular chest. I bit my lip to keep myself from tumbling down into a worthless rabbit hole of fantasizing.

I wasn’t there to think about Carmine’s naked, wet abs. I needed something to give Oscar, something to keep him off my back for a while. Some cash would help, but it wouldn’t be enough.

Carmine’s laptop was on his desk. It was a minimal setup with only two drawers, both of them mostly empty save for pens, pencils, notepads, sticky notes, and a deck of playing cards. I opened the computer’s lid but was prompted to enter his password. I chewed on my nails, tried password and password123 but that didn’t work. On a whim, I typed in Capri but that wasn’t it either. I closed the lid and stood up.

There was nothing. He kept his room clean, like he knew someone might look through it one day. And considering how many people came and went in this apartment—cleaning people, cooks, guards, soldiers, me and Oscar—it was probably a good decision.

Which meant he kept his things somewhere else.

I heard a sound in the other room. The ding of the elevator. I hurried out, but paused at the door. His chair was still out of position. Heart racing, I ran over to it, pushed it back into place, and practically threw myself out into the hallway.

Carmine came around the corner as I stood there breathing hard. “You’re home,” I said and plastered a smile on my face.

He slowed and stopped. His eyes were hard and I got the sense he’d been thinking about something difficult right before running into me.

“I’m home,” he said, his voice a low purr. “What were you doing, lingering in the hallway?” He glanced at his door, but it was closed—just like I’d found it.

“Well, I was reading in bed, and now I’m going to the kitchen for, uh, a snack.”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Where’s Oscar?”

“I don’t know. Is he really necessary? Maybe you could send him back to my father.”

He shook his head. “I can’t spare anyone else to babysit you and I can’t do it myself. I thought you’d be happy to have someone from home. Make you feel comfortable.”

I shrugged and looked at my feet. “Yeah, right, totally. Comfortable.”

“If you’re not happy with him—”

“No, Oscar’s fine.” I spoke quickly, meeting his eyes again. I felt a sudden thud of terror. I didn’t know what Oscar would do if Carmine sent him away, but it wouldn’t be good.

Carmine nodded. “All right, if that’s what you want.”

“Where have you been all day, anyway? You say you’re busy, but it seems like you just sit around the Lowdown and drink with Cap and Mal.”

His lips quirked. “That’s called strategizing.”

“That’s called hanging out with your friends.”

“That too. You should try it sometime.”

I glared at him. I didn’t have any friends and he knew it. “Seriously, I thought you were in some kind of war. It’s been quiet.”

“Would you rather it was loud and dangerous?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was expecting something different.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I met with Cezary from the Smierc Gang this afternoon. And I have to admit, it didn’t go well.”

I perked up, interested. This could be useful. “What happened?”

“He wasn’t the man I expected.” His eyes narrowed, watching me. “Why do you care?”

“I’m from a cartel. I’m used to talking about these things. I guess I’m feeling a little bored and worthless.”

“You’re going to school. That’s your only job right now. Leave the violence to me.”

“Since you’re so good at it?”

“I am, yes, extremely.”

I laughed, tilting my chin up. “You just don’t seem like the type to me.”

“And what type is that?” He stepped forward, coming closer. I moved back.

“You know, the killer type. Mal’s definitely a killer. You’ve got other guys like that too. But I don’t know about you.”

I bumped back against the wall.

“Tell me, what did your father have you doing down in Mexico?”

“I hid in my house and listened to my tutors, mostly.”

Carmine’s lips pulled back. “My father had me selling drugs since the day I turned fifteen. I worked the streets at a young age, and nobody gave a fuck that my dad was Placido Falsone. I fought just like everyone else, and I took plenty of beatings over the years. Gave out plenty more. My father was a good man, but he wasn’t a soft man. He expected me to earn my place in the family. There’s a reason Mal’s loyal and why I could step in and begin to overtake the city again.”